


Dear Steve #6

by grownupgeekgirl



Series: Dear Steve [6]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-25
Updated: 2014-02-25
Packaged: 2018-01-13 16:51:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 299
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1233940
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/grownupgeekgirl/pseuds/grownupgeekgirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Peggy writes letters to Steve after the plane crash</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dear Steve #6

October 2002

Dear Steve,

I used to go to the dance hall on Saturday nights. Not every week, just when I wanted to remember you. Other women went, too, to sit at the sides and wait for their date, the one who wasn’t coming back. There was a kind of peace there. We had all lost, and no matter what our lives brought, we’d always remember the loss. I went for years. Sometimes married or even pregnant women sat and waited with us. Just to remember him one more time. I never planned to make a friend, but there was one. Another Margaret. Mags. She never married. A lot of us didn’t.

She’d been Maggie until she met her Irishman. He called her Mags. I don’t think anyone else ever called her Mags but her Irishman and me. She had such a beautiful smile when she talked about him. How he was tall, so tall he could carry her easily. How he was sweet, and funny, and so gentle, but what Germany was doing to the world made him so angry. She never said, but I think her Irishman didn’t like bullies either. 

His plane disappeared over the Atlantic, too. 

Sometimes I wonder how I would have managed these long years without her. I didn’t see her often, maybe every two or three years we’d both be at the dances. She was so proud I had a career that I won on my own. She always said, “I never needed a man, and I’ve only ever wanted one.” Me, too.

Mags died yesterday.

I’m going to a dance on Saturday, and remember a tiny, determined, angry woman who refused to accept a world without her Irishman.

I wonder how I’ll manage the long years without the both of you.


End file.
